


In Shadows

by jaycay



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Electrocution, F/M, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Prisoner of War, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Torture, Vampires, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaycay/pseuds/jaycay
Summary: Alternate universe in which vampires and other supernatural exists - somewhere in between The Masquerade, any vampire novel (be it Anne Rice or Anita Blake) and many TRPG sessions.In a world in which there are monsters in the shadows, a hitman falls victim to opposing forces.Starts out bad, gets worse, might get better. First time posting something, text not really edited; just like most authors I'm kinda unsure of the quality of my work. Feedback welcome!





	1. Awakening

Cold water hit like a blow to the face and the man jerked awake.  
  
He was sitting upright in a chair, in a room filled with shadows. There was a light source somewhere behind him.  
Where was he? _Who_ was he?  
There should be equipment, a heavy vest, the ghillie, but it was gone. A weapon. Gone. He wore dark, stained field trousers and a thin T-Shirt, a darker shade of black where water had drenched him.  
What had happened?  
His bare feet touched concrete. Tape on his wrists, ankles, arms, torso, holding him in a metal chair.  
Why...  
  
There was sudden movement and a lean figure knelt next to him.  
"Poor child," a silken voice purred, "all wet and cold and alone. Look at me."  
Strong fingers gripped his short hair and green eyes caught his gaze. Friend. A friend was talking.  
He wanted to listen.  
"You will answer my questions, human. You will do as I bid. Do you understand?"  
"I understand," he whispered. Had he wanted to answer? His mouth was dry and talking hurt.  
Cool fingers on his scalp.  
"What is your name?"  
The man blinked. Name. His name. His friend wanted to know his name.  
"Tell me your name, human. It's not that hard, isn't it?"

_A memory hit him, sudden like the water. A woman's voice, laughter. 'Over here, Cal. Chopper's waiting!' Cal. Was he Cal?_

"Cal?" He was unsure, but his friend wanted answers - deserved an answer - and this was the only one he could give.  
"Cal. Very good. I am Marlon. See, we're friends already. Now tell me, Cal, who sent you?" Marlon's smile was reassuring.

Nothing.  
Nothing but emptiness in his mind.  
He tried to talk, but he had no answer to give.  
Where was he? Who was he? Who was Marlon?

"Tell me," calm voice, steely voice. "who wanted Caius dead? Who sent you, Cal?"  
The questions hurt. Cal groaned, desperately trying to find something to tell Marlon.  
"Hush, human!" his friend snapped, calmness momentarily broken, "none of this pathetic whimpering. I want answers, Cal. Who sent you?"

_Flashes of impressions: A helicopter hovering over desert sand. Sunset over a burning city. Rows of tents, people running, a woman in a dark suit. Recoil slamming the rifle's stock into his shoulder. Kneeling in a canoe, crossing a river big enough to be the sea. A briefing room, bare and utilitarian. But no faces, no names._

He wanted to scream, but the green eyes kept him quiet.  
"Concentrate, Cal." Marlon's voice was soft again. Warm, green eyes in a beautiful face.  
Memories surfaced.

_Caius. A figure in his scope. His finger on the trigger, finding the sweet spot. Dark hair and a pale face, a man standing on a moonlit patio. Reflecting eyes, like a cat's, a lazy gaze sweeping his surroundings. Regal, dominating._

_The woman next to his target, next to Caius, stretched and adjusted a scabbard on her back, her head turning, keeping an eye on her environment. A sword. Why a sword? No matter._

_The soft voice of his spotter keying him in._

_The familiar recoil of a rifle in his arms._  
_The figure collapsing, head destroyed._

_Blood on the patio, black in the moonlight; emptiness where a person had been. In the blink of an eye the woman had vanished._

_He raised his head from the scope._  
_Next to him, his spotter moved. A sidearm clicked._

 _Yes, one step left, a final task on the list. His hand reached down, finding the holster._  
  
"Caius," he whispered. The target had been Caius.  
"Caius," the green-eyed man confirmed. "You shot him in the head, Cal. You killed him. On whose orders?"

Silence and white noise ringing in Cal's ears.

"Caius," his voice faltered but he had to try again, "Caius was the target."  
His friend sighed. He had made him unhappy. Given the wrong answer. The knowledge hurt like the cold creeping from the cement floor into his bare feet.  
"Who sent you to kill Caius, Cal? You can tell me."

Static, no name to give, no face to describe.

_Figure - scope - recoil - head gone - final order - spotter._

_Spotter._  
_He had one last task to fulfill._

His fingers twitched, searching for a trigger.

_You will take your gun and shoot yourself. Aim for the head._

_A single shot next to him._  
_A body hitting the mossy tree trunk they had used for cover._

No gun to reach.

 _A final task._  
_Remove the witness._

He whimpered, fighting his restraints. The order was overwhelming, even more so than his friend's calm voice. Marlon held him a while longer, taxing the desperate grasping movements of his right hand.  
"Stop."

The need to heed his friend's commands fought the order. Muscles tensed, working against each other.

_Stop - remove the witness - stop._

"What are you trying to do, Cal? Answer me."

He should not talk, he could not talk, but he had to, he wanted to. Static roared in his ears. Cal whimpered quietly, while the green eyes locked his gaze, drew him in.

"Final task. Fulfill mission. Remove witness," he managed to rasp.  
  
"You will not fulfill the task, Cal. Look at me. Listen to my voice." His friend knew best, but the knowledge of the last order burned.

"No, Cal, no final task. Relax. Remember." Marlon's voice was soothing, calming; the beautiful, secure center of a confusing world, but the white noise tried to claim it.

"Focus on my voice, Cal. There is no need for other orders. Answer me and everything will be all right, I promise."

The questions returned, a soft voice issuing a stream of inquiries without answers. Why, who, where? He tried to grasp the remnants of memories in his mind, but it was of no use. Under Marlon's calm, disappointed gaze, Cal wept, while his hand twitched, longing to follow the all-important order he had been given.  
  
With a sigh, Marlon turned away and looked to the shadows. Another silhouette, slim, female. Waiting.  
"It's no use. He has been blocked, maybe wiped. He cannot tell me what he cannot recall. And there's definitely another order on him."  
"Order? What kind?"  
"Suicide, I guess. That would explain why the other one shot herself as soon as Caius fell."  
  
_A body hitting the tree. The other one. His spotter. She had obeyed._

A new emotion crept in over confusion, fear, and pain; loss.

 _His spotter, his other half. No name, no face, only the numb knowledge that someone irreplaceable was gone._  
  
The woman moved, a silhouette in the darkness, pacing, never taking her eyes off Cal.

"Can't you break through?" Her voice was tense. Marlon's hand cupped Cal's cheek, caressing a bruise with icy fingers.

"Me? No. I'm not powerful enough. It will be difficult, if not impossible."

The woman cursed in a language Cal did not understand. His friend shrugged.

"We could wait. Maybe the master will be able to read him."

The woman took a step closer and shook her head.

"Not good enough. We must show patri that we tried everything. Caius was his child. Drugs?"

"If my powers don't work, drugs won't work either." Cold hands held Cal's chin; Marlon's voice remained measured.

"Try torture," he finally said. "Pain, fear, desperation - there is a small chance they might break the hold, at least in parts. It might be enough to give you something." Cal's head dropped as Marlon released his grip and got to his feet.

"And even if not - patri will see that we did our best."

"You're sure he doesn't remember?"

"Look at him. In time, something might come back, but right now? He doesn't even know where he is."  
  
_Scraps of memories in a whirlpool of impressions. Cool air, grass under his arms, remnants of the day's warmth under the ghillie. Target acquired. Target eliminated._

_Your final task: remove the witnesses._

_He had to do it. He had to finish it, but there was no gun in reach, and he was unable to move._  
  
"Ensure you keep him from ending his life. He might try." Marlon, his friend, sounded detached, uninterested.

"You will not join us?"

"Not tonight. While it is fun seeing them squirm, I have yet to feed and this night won't last forever."

"Of course. I will keep him alive and we'll see what he can give us." The woman moved closer.

Cal tried to twist away, but the bonds held. An icy, strong hand gripped his neck, he struggled for breath and the last thing heard before everything went dark was Marlon's chuckle.


	2. Orders

His arms hurt. That was the first thought to breach the darkness. Cal blinked and tried to raise his head. He knelt, numb legs held in place by rigid shackles. A dull ache throbbed in his shoulders, the forced position making it hard to breathe. He managed to look around. Bare walls, a concrete floor. A grate in the center, dark stains ingrained around the drain. He shivered. The shirt was gone. Manacles bit into his wrists and chains held his arms up and out. What had woken him?

Footsteps broke the silence. He could sense a presence behind him, but something was wrong. The rustling of clothes, soft footfalls on concrete, but nothing more. No breathing. None of the usual human noises.  
In the silence, a memory.  
  
_Do not aim for center mass. Aim for the head. Their hearts don't work no more, no use destroying them._  
  
Cal's head spun. What had his friend... Marlon. Not a friend, definitely not a friend.

 _Why would you ever consider him a friend? Remember, their words are dangerous. Don't listen. Aim for the head._  
  
A buzzing noise startled him, made the memory ripple and disappear - part of his brain recognizing the sound, trying to send a warning, but too slow, too late - then metal hit his right hip and Cal's world exploded in pain.

Electricity made his muscles contract and set fire to his nerves. His heart raced, then started skipping beats; a scream fought its way out between his clenched teeth. He twitched in his bonds trying desperately to breathe - then it was over, and the woman stood in front of him.

Her face was neutral, barely showing any interest. The patio. She had stood next to the target. The scabbard was still affixed to her back with an old, worn leather harness and the sword's hilt was dull with age.

Cal gasped for breath. He had sagged in the chains and the tension in his arms increased the strain on his rib cage.

Her left arm moved, the stick in her hand made contact again and the pain was back, swallowing Cal whole. He screamed, his dry throat getting rawer with every second, until he was out of air, until there was nothing but darkness with bright sparks dancing and shimmering. The pain stopped. Cal hung limp, gulping air in ragged breaths.  
  
"They told me to avoid prolonged contact, as it could easily kill you." The woman's voice was calm. In her hand the cattle prod circled lazily.

"How long do you think you can last?" She crouched, brought herself to eye level in one fluid movement.

"I will stop once you give me something. A name? A description?"

Cal blinked, trying to focus on anything but the blank metal prongs of the prod.

"Look at me!" she ordered. Her voice showed an edge, but there was no compulsion in it. Unlike Marlon, this one gave her commands without the strange force behind her words. The prod swung in a hypnotic arc. Cold fingers like steel gripped his jaw and forced his head around.

"What are you staring at, human? This?" The prongs drew nearer, filled his view. The hold on Cal's jaw ceased and cold metal touched his lips. When the shock came, the current forced his jaw muscles to contract hard enough to crack his teeth. He heard himself scream and then there was, finally, only darkness.  
  
_Maps on a table, light blue rivers and endless green. A mug, forgotten, the coffee long cold. The planning session had been over, everything was set, when he felt the presence enter the room._

He tried to focus, but there was only static, white noise, an overwhelming feeling of nothingness.  
  
Cal awoke, once again, with icy water trickling down his face and back. His lips burned, he felt blisters under his dry tongue, and warm wetness on his wrists.

"You will look at me if I order you to," said the woman from somewhere in front of him matter-of-factly.

"Do you understand me, human?" Cal blinked, trying to orient himself, listening for the buzzing sound.

"Look at me or regret it." Fear let his head snap back and he stared at his tormentor. The woman sat on the floor, easily within arm's reach, legs crossed, scabbard and sword resting on her knees; a warrior's pose, strange and old. Under her black, formfitting shirt muscles showed. Her red hair was braided, single strands crossing each other, forming a pattern around a broad scar that split her scalp and her forehead. For a second, Cal wondered how she could have survived the blow. Her smile did not reach her pale eyes.

"Very good, human." She nodded once and there was movement behind him, something hit the floor with a metallic clang, a door opened and fell shut.

"Now, human. Shall we find out if Marlon was right? Have you found some memories yet?"

Cal opened his mouth, his lips moving, but no sound escaped. The woman sighed and produced a water bottle from behind her, snapped the clasp open and held it to his lips. Despite the blisters he swallowed greedily, choked, then started coughing, unable to stop.

"Humans," the woman murmured, seemingly to herself, leaned in, grabbed his jaw and forced his face towards her. Cal shuddered, still trying to suppress the rasping gasps. He found himself resting his weight in her hand, easing the pressure on his ribs. The coughing ceased and his eyelids flickered. He was spent. The pain, the cold, the exhaustion raced to see which would overtake him first.

A hard slap across his face ripped Cal from his stupor.

"Let me tell you what we know about you, human. You are a fighter, a blade for hire of some kind or other. You and your dark-skinned friend came here on foot. We know this, because there is no other way to reach this refuge and we did not detect a helicopter in the perimeter. This means at least ten days spent trekking through the jungle while dodging our patrols. You set up camp and created a beautiful little hiding spot from which to observe this abode. And then you waited, night after night, didn't you? You waited until your target", she spit the word, "went outside to watch the moon and then you shot him through the head."  
  
_They had rested by day and moved by night. Few words were necessary. Comradeship. Trust. She had been his spotter for long enough for the two of them to be one mind while on a mission. She had kept watch while he slept, he had sat awake when she dozed. Night after night watching for a target, waiting for the chance to take the shot._

He managed a nod, or at least he thought he did.  
  
"Caius died by your hand. When I reached you, you were reaching for your holster, no doubt to follow your friend's example. Why do you think," she asked, "they gave you this order?"  
  
_Something had ripped the ghillie away and a blow struck him hard enough to throw Cal onto his back, his hand still trying to open the holster, to get to the gun. She had been there. A furious snarl, a face barely human, canines flashing, a raised fist - how on earth had the woman crossed the distance in mere seconds - then nothing._  
  
Cal groaned. The order found its way into his muscles again and his and grasped for a gun that was not there. The woman watched him calmly.  
  
"Whichever master you served, little fighter, they saw you as expendable. Whoever sent you, they made sure that not one of you would be alive. There was no way you could have escaped - except the one they told you to take."  
  
_Static grew and formed words with meaning far beyond their sound. The briefing room. Mal - comrade, spotter, friend, sister - next to him, staring at the presence. No face, no body to describe, but the words flowed and engulfed them. Created a new world that would come to be. Told the future yet unfulfilled._  
  
Cal groaned as his right arm twitched, grasping for nothing. The woman surveyed him, her eyes followed the movement and she seemed to ponder a decision. His fingers moved, withstood his demands for them to stop, constantly searching for a weapon, until the woman reached up, grabbed his hand and closed her fist. His fingers snapped like twigs in her grip. The crack slashed the silence of the room, followed by Cal's scream. The twitching stopped, his hand hung limp, broken bones throbbing. Cal's knees gave in and he fell, only the chains holding him upright. Amidst the pain he realized that the compulsion had ceased.  
  
"See?" asked the woman, her voice almost friendly, "This is what they did to you."  
  
Through tears and vertigo, Cal tried to steady himself, but his legs refused to work, and his body weight seemed to drag his arms out of their sockets. He felt unconsciousness draw nearer with every stifled breath. He tried to talk, desperately willing to trade answers for a chance to breathe, but his lips moved soundlessly.  
Air moved and the woman was gone. Something clicked and the chains were lowered, allowing him to let his arms sink to his sides. He tried to turn around, tried to keep his interrogator in his line of vision, but she was back, sitting in front of him as if she had never moved. She shoved the water bottle into his left hand and gestured impatiently.  
  
"Drink. Then answers."

It took Cal several attempts to raise the bottle to his lips. The water was cold and soothing on his raw throat. He forced himself to take small sips although his body screamed for more, desperate for liquid. The woman watched him, then held up a hand, fingers moving in a demanding gesture.

"Presence." Cal managed after a few attempts.

"New briefing. Mission planning. All normal. Then... new orders. There was some...body. Talking. Orders." A wave of white noise rose in the back of his mind, threatening to take over his head, to drown out all thought. His hands flexed and broken bones ground against each other.  
  
He did not register the buzzing of the cattle prod before a jab sent him writhing to the floor, his right hand hitting the concrete next to his head, both exploding in white-hot pain. When he could breathe again, the white noise was gone.

His ankles lay twisted in the bindings connecting them to the cement floor and shooting pains stabbed his legs all the way up to his hips. Cal tried desperately to move, to get up again, before the bones in his legs gave or his ankles shattered. The woman, standing again, grabbed him and lifted him easily back onto his knees. He felt her cold hands on his bare shoulders. Warm liquid was running down his cheek, the fall must have been bad enough to split skin.

 _Bad. Cannot afford to lose fluids._  
  
The woman breathed deeply, as if savoring a beloved scent.

Then she leaned in, her face close to his.

Her tongue flicked out and she tasted the blood, licked it from his skin, slowly cleaning his face of all traces of red. The woman smiled and sharp canines glinted in the dim light. He tried to shy away, to twist out of her grip.

No longer a prisoner fearing torture, but the primal terror of prey in the grip of the hunter.  
  
_They are faster than we are. They are stronger than we are. They have powers we can't begin to understand. Don't you ever forget: They are no longer human. They are birds of prey and we are the hares. Butchers and cattle. The only chance you have is strike first, strike hard, and never, never ever underestimate a vampire._  
  
"Delicious," the woman remarked, wiping her mouth on her arm. Her lips seemed redder, fuller; when she steadied him, there was a trace of warmth in her hands.

She took hold of his manacles and inspected the wounds where metal had rubbed his skin raw. Small droplets of blood marked his forearms, were smeared under her probing fingers. The woman smiled and brought her hands to her mouth, her tongue darting out again, removing the blood in small, exact flicks. 

Cal winced and cradled his broken hand to his chest as memories, overwhelming and loud, flooded his mind.

_Headshots with silver ammunition worked best. Fire was an alternative._

_Fast._

_Don't age._

_Power over the minds of men._

_Don't let them catch you. Never let them bring you in alive._

He stared into the pale eyes of the creature in front of him and for the first time he was glad that Mal was out of it.

_Never let them bring you in alive._

_Never let them bring you in alive._

_Never..._

The white noise returned and this time the pain was not strong enough to drag him back into the cell.


	3. Interim

When Cal next opened his eyes, he was alone. He tried to get up, but he was too weak, and every movement jostled the broken bones in his hand, so he held still, waiting. He did not know how long ago he had woken. Time was an undefined entity in this bare, dull room.  
  
Cal lay on his side, numbly watching the last remnants of the water spilled on him drip into the drain. The shackles on his ankles were gone, but the chains on his wrists remained. His right hand had not stopped hurting and the pain was enough to drown out the rest of his body's complaints. He wished for sleep, for rest, but the throbbing kept him awake, a pounding rhythm, pain and heartbeat in one.

From time to time the compulsion to end his life rose, but the general weakness and the exhaustion were stronger than the order. He tried to remember the presence in the briefing room, but all he got was the white noise and stabbing pains behind his eyes. What had they done to him? Mal's face was present now, dark skin, a thin smile, sharp eyes. A woman of few words. Gone. Spared.  
  
He had killed a vampire, an important one. Neither Mal nor he were supposed to survive, but here he was, alive in the hand of his target's what - packmates? Friends? Subordinates? They were waiting for somebody to return, their master, someone possibly able to break whatever held his memories. His target's father. _His creator,_ his mind insisted. Things would get worse.

His left hand lay in view. The manacle was made of brushed stainless steel. It looked new and - except for the bits of skin and blood rubbed from his wrists - surprisingly clean. Less chance for infection? His mind wandered, aimless thoughts coming and going, while he stared at his fingers, his thumb touching each fingertip in turn, a slow dance, a concentration exercise. If he remembered, if someone were to stop the white noise, if he talked, would they kill him? They might. The thought was soothing. Was this the compulsion, the order or was it himself?

Wasn't he supposed to resist interrogation?

 _I have no service number to repeat._ What a strange thought.

A sound starteled him. The door somewhere in the back of the room swung open and foosteps entered the cell. Cal tried to turn, but before he was able to move, dark fabric was drawn over his head and hands gripped his shoulders, exposing his neck. Warm hands. Heavy breathing. Someone whistling under their breath. He had not quite realized that his handlers must be human when a needle pierced his skin and the world went soft.

* * *

His mind skipped on the surface of consciousness like a stone flicked over water. He was led out of the cell, half walking, half being dragged; light under the rim of the hood covering his face; voices far away, unintelligible, somewhere someone screamed. A door opening, they pushed him into a room smelling faintly of disinfectant.

* * *

He was laying on a cold surface, his right hand aching as somebody moved his fingers. The hood was gone, replaced by a tight blindfold. Cal tried to move, but his muscles did not comply. He heard himself yelp as a broken bone was set.

* * *

Cold water made him shiver, he was sprawled on the floor, naked, blindfold still in place while someone sprayed him with cold liquid, then wiped dirt and blood from his arms. His head spun and the ringing of blood in his ears made it hard to understand his handlers. At least two of them were present, talking among each other. Quiet but angry, he was an unwanted task. A splash of water hit his face and he struggled weakly, tried to raise his hands to fend off the onslaught. Somewhere, someone started laughing. More water followed and he was sure he was drowning.

* * *

Hard hands held him upright and he breathed through wracking coughs, spitting fluids. He was sitting up, his right hand unmoving, splinted? Only a dull ache, no longer burning. The laughter was gone. He was alive. Bad luck. Fabric was pressed into his left hand. "Dress." a voice commanded next to him. He struggled to put trousers on stiff legs. Finally, the person holding him cursed and helped him. Cal's head sacked to the side, the muscles suddenly too weak to support him, and he fled into nothingness.

* * *

Cal could not begin to guess how long the drug had kept him under, but when he woke he found himself back in the cell, blindfold gone, white bandages under the manacles, the chains still slack. He wore lose black cloth trousers, clean, but not his own. His right hand was set in a thin plastic cast, keeping him from moving his fingers. A patch of medical tape covered the head wound and there were injection marks in the crook of his left elbow. The burning thirst was gone. Somebody wanted to keep him alive and the knowledge was suffocating.  
  
The cell was cold and he curled himself up as far as possible, trying to suppress the shivers in his aching muscles.

 _What now?_ Cal started counting his heartbeats and made it to 4,300 until a fitful sleep claimed him.


	4. Memories

When the woman returned, she brought Marlon.

* * *

Cal had been jerked awake when someone roughly fixed his ankles into the bindings and shortened the length of the chains so he was forced to kneel upright once more. The lights had been low, silhouettes moving in the shadows, the same tuneless whistling sounds as before. It was only after the door had shut that the room got lighter, until he was able to see the stark cell in all its details again.

It might have been the sleep or whatever they had given him, but Cal's head felt clearer than before. He took inventory of his body. Right hand - throbbing, but manageable; as far as he could say professionally treated. Breathing - easier, the chains had not been wound up as tightly as before. Muscles - sore, but this was to be expected. Joints - aching, due to stress positions. Knees - hurting badly, hard floor, body weight. Wrists and ankles - abrasions treated, uncomfortable, but the bandages protected the wounds from the manacles.

Memories? It was like probing an aching tooth or touching a fresh wound. Somewhere between spotty and nonexistent the white noise lurked, a force poised to strike.

_Concentrate. Sort the impressions. Start at the beginning, work your way through._

His name - or at least the name he had claimed as his - was Cal. He had worked with a woman called Mal, a woman he was close to; amidst the confusion and the pain there was a feeling of loss creeping in. _No time for this, not now._ He was a gunner, a sniper?

_The gun felt natural in his hands, cool metal on his cheek, hard edges molded to him. Be one._

He had killed a vampire called Caius out somewhere in the jungle. Deep in the jungle.

_Covertly marching for days on end, quietly finding their way up the mountains, finally reaching the mark far from civilization. One of their bases. A sprawling villa complex overlooking a lake. Big windows, but massive shutters included in the beautiful design. Protection against the sun. No local guides, only coordinates on a map that did not even show a valley. No satellite images. Someone kept this place protected._

Vampires were known to him, a force to be reckoned with, working in the shadows, some of them centuries old. The enemy? Case-by-case basis. This one had been a target. It was what they did. A professional hit. Mal and he had been heavily involved in the planning, until...

_Presence. Unexpected. Orders. Words forming the future. Dictating._

_Focus on the presence. Focus._

The white noise rose, a wave growing, starting to break.

_Planning. Done. The others would get them as far as they could, then the team would be on their own._

_Visitor. Unexpected. A woman. Business suit. Briefcase._

_Focus._

_Normal briefing. Normal planning. Then... her._

_Others leaving. Who? No faces, no names, but the feeling of mutual trust. Part of the unit? Not part of the hit._

_A woman._

_Business suit. Briefcase. Long hair._

_Focus._

_Long, blond hair._

The wave broke and flashes of pain stabbed his eyes. Cal concentrated to stop the train of thought. Whoever it was, they - she - had sent them to kill their mark and then die. The compulsion to reach for a gun was gone, would it return? Unsure. What else had they done?

_Wiped. Marlon said it. Why? No traces. He couldn't provide information if there was none. No way to identify him, even if the order failed. Sickening._

_Again: A woman with long, blond hair had joined the planning shortly before they were supposed to leave._

_Focus._

_She had been in charge. She had ordered everybody else out of the room. She had talked to Mal and him alone and she had planted her will in their heads._

The screeching static was overwhelming, no simple wave now, a tsunami.

Cal scrammed his eyes shut and concentrated on his breathing until a sound jerked him out of the near-meditative state.

* * *

Behind him the door opened and soft footsteps drew nearer, someone quietly moving not rushed, all the time in the world, then Marlon came into view. Same green eyes, same dark hair swept back from a pale face.

"Hello Cal," the vampire smiled warmly, "how are you feeling?" Cal held his gaze silently. No compulsion to answer yet. Marlon sighed.

"And here I thought we were friends. Don't you prefer talking to me to talking to her?" A lazy gesture to the side pointed to the woman, leaning on the wall, regarding the scene calmly. Marlon reached up and touched the plastic cast supporting Cal's fingers.

"Did you have to break them?" he asked, a tad of weariness in his voice.

"Stopped him trying to off himself." The woman sounded annoyed. "Whatever works." She added a few sentences in the language Cal didn't understand.

Marlon shook his head and sighed. His smile was knowing, took Cal into confidence. _So typical, right?_ the beautiful face seemed to say, but the hypnotic force was absent.

 _I don't have to play your games._ Cal looked away until strong fingers gripped his jaw and turned his head to face Marlon again.

"This won't do, Cal. Don't disrespect me. You will look at me when I talk to you and you will answer my questions." Still no compulsion, still no sign of the _knowledge_ that the creature was his friend, his confidant.

_No reason to obey, then._

Unable to move his head, Cal closed his eyes.

The slash was sudden, unexpected.

Cal bucked in his chains when a sharp switch cut across the soles of his feet.

The woman was gone. Marlon had let go of his head and watched him, observant and unmoved. The next strike hit, and Cal jerked in the chains, ground his teeth against the pain. A third slash, a fourth, a fifth. Spaced out to find unblemished skin, fiery lines cutting deep.

He made it to eleven until a short, sharp cry wound its way around his self-control.

Malcolm held up a hand and the slashes ceased. The woman glided back to her spot on the wall, delicately wiping blood from a long, narrow whip, then licking her fingers clean.

"See, now, I could have ordered you to obey me from the start, Cal, but I wanted you clear, you mind unclouded." He shook his head, no longer smiling. "You have to understand that there is always more than one road to take. Talking to me is the easy way. The alternatives might," he paused and turned to the smiling woman, "They might suit her, Cal, but for you they will be - to say the least - unpleasant." He sighed, a strange gesture for a person no longer breathing.

"I'm going to make this easier for you." The fingers locked around his jaw and the green eyes caught Cal's. "Talk to me. Have you remembered anything? Tell me what you know."

He tried to resist, but the small part of him that was still yelling protests was drowning out in sees of green. Falling into the eyes and words of his friend, Cal began to talk until the white noise overwhelmed him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised myself I'd keep this up, at least for a while, so here goes.


	5. So close

Everything was quiet. Cal's mind swam slowly into focus. He found himself staring at the wet spots on the cement floor, still in the cell, still kneeling, still held upright by the chains.

His arms ached, and when he tried to move, the muscles in his shoulders seized. Breathing had been hard enough without the cramps and he felt the darkness tugging at him, unconsciousness looming. Maybe this was the last time he would have to wake up to this.

_Comforting thought._

His knees ached, but apart from the pain in the joints he had no feeling at all in his legs. His feet should hurt, the blows had cut skin, but there was only a cold numbness. Not a good sign. No circulation. Bad.

He had to close his eyes, only for a minute.

* * *

The light never changed, but time must have passed, on the floor the last remnants of water had dried.

Had they treated him this time? No. Cal was thirsty, and through a haze of exhaustion he smelled blood and sweat. Maybe this really was it. Maybe the had decided they did no need him any more.

He tried to listen for the small noises even vampires made, but apart from the sounds of his own labored breathing there was only silence. For the moment, it seemed, he was alone.

* * *

When he surfaced next, he was too weak to raise his head. His dreams, if they had been dreams, had been filled with static and the vague image of the blond woman taking his life away.

It seemed like Marlon had been correct: pain was a key to unlock his memories. Pain and fear and... what was the third thing? Remembering was nearly as hard as breathing.

His left knee buckled and he sagged in his chains. White-hot pain flashed through his shoulders and back and he screamed with what little air he had left. In vain he tried to stabilize himself, get back into the position that promised the least amount of misery, but the floor seemed to be rolling and the bare walls span. 

_Okay then._

Not long now. His body would surrender; first unconsciousness, then death. Not long now. Not long now.

_Not long now._

* * *

"Seems we got here just in time." The voice was cold with anger. Somewhere behind him a man murmured something, only to be cut off by a slap and a yelp.

"You will be quiet," the woman hissed, "Or I will personally remove your tongue, young one."

Shuffling steps in the background. A hasty retreat.

The chains were gone. He was lying in stable lateral position, able to draw breath at last.

Cal's legs hurt, his feet burned. His right hand was throbbing again.

It was brighter than before, sharp angles of shadows pierced the stillness of the monochrome room. He blinked and tried to focus on the dark silhouette shielding him from the light.

Marlon was leaning over him, arms crossed, face unreadable. Cal coughed, too weak to move. Somewhere in the background he saw an open door, the woman pacing, an aggravated cat of prey, ready to pounce.

"Had pater not send us to fetch him, he might well have died - and then where would you be, hm?" Marlon sounded much calmer than this companion, ending his sentence on an almost cheerful note. The vampire knelt and felt Cal's neck with cold fingers. "Be glad that his heart's still beating, Christian."

"I told the guards to look after him!" someone protested.

_Christian, I presume._

"And yet we find him in this state," Marlon answered, "in the first stages of infection and halfway to suffocation." 

Breathing hurt.

_So close._

Christian hunkered down next to Marlon. His voice was quiet, almost pleading, when he spoke, "I'll clean him up. Please don't tell the master. He'll be fine after a day's rest or so."

"Do you wish to explain to patri why his son's murderer cannot be brought before him?" Suddenly there was venom in Marlon's gentle tones. "Could it be you and your men were disappointed when we forbade you to play with this human? Or," the vampire gripped Cal's hair and turned his head to Christian, as if illustrating a point,"Would you have preferred this last witness dead?"

The sudden movement summoned a wave of vertigo, drowning out every answer Christian might have tried to form. The man stumbled backwards, trying to create distance between Marlon and himself. The woman hissed more than she spoke, "You're done here. We'll get him sorted out. Stop your pathetic whining and wait for patri's judgement." 

Cal expected his head to be dropped after the point was made, but instead icy hands were on him and he felt himself being lifted, effortlessly held by arms like steel cables, then slung over a bony shoulder.

He started to cough again and with the fit came, at last, darkness.


	6. Interim II

No blindfold this time.

The treatment room was spacious, a modern surgery table at the center, bright lights reflecting in stainless steel surfaces and white tiles.

Keeping his eyes open was hard and Cal was unsure how many seconds or minutes he lost every time he blinked.

The doctor was female, short brown hair, dark eyes, dark skin; angry. She muttered while she cleaned his wounds, checked the fingers and placed an IV in his left arm. She handled him impersonally, neither aiming for additional pain nor trying to avoid it.

"Unnecessary," she hissed as she examined his feet. Pain seared through his legs again.

* * *

When Cal's eyes opened next, Marlon was there - had always been there? - leaning next to the door, perfectly at ease, all signs of anger dissipated. The woman was nowhere to be seen. Breathing was easier now and his wrists had been re-bandaged. Cool liquid trickled into his veins, saline? His mouth still felt parched, but the weakness caused by dehydration seemed to fade.

The doctor had opened a fridge. "The master wants to see him now, I presume?" she asked wearily. Marlon sauntered over, stood next to Cal, slender fingers resting on his shoulder. 

"Yes. He wants to meet his son's murderer. Wants to hear what our friend Cal has to say." The doctor sighed.

"I'm going to have to give him the treatment." She held up a hand, stifling possible signs of protest.

"His wounds are infected, two ribs are broken, four cracked."

Cal tried to remember. _They did not break my ribs. Did they?_

Flashes of memories, overwhelming, raw. 

_Marlon had held his gaze, had asked more questions than Cal had been able to answer, again and again._

_Describe the woman.  
_

_Tell me about her face. Her eyes. Her height._

_Scars? Fingers missing?_

_What about her voice? An accent? Low pitch? High?_

_When he had faltered once too often, the woman had moved from her crouch and the pain had returned._

_Pain and fear and..._

_... desperation. The third thing. Desperation.  
_

Marlon and the doctor were talking, discussing the treatment, but the sound of the whip cutting trough the air, of fists hitting his body drowned out their words.

* * *

Warmth flooded his arm, spread throughout his body, enveloped him in soft painlessness.

A wave of relief swept through him, eased the throbbing in his limbs, stilled the aching in his ribs that had accompanied each breath.

The IV bag had been swapped, a dark fluid dripped into the tube, ran through the needle embedded in his skin. He blinked. A blood transfusion?

Cal listened to his breathing. No crackling sounds any more.

He tried to raise his head and was surprised to feel his muscles respond. Cal looked down. Restraints encircled his wrists and ankles, kept him on the examination table.

The doctor reached out, felt his pulse and prodded his ribs.

"Lay still and let your body heal. I don't want to have to break bones to re-set them correctly," she ordered. She did not have to add the _but I will._

Marlon was still there, his eyes unreadable. Watching, waiting, a hint of a smile on his calm features.

"Enjoy our power while it lasts, human," he whispered, "now listen to the good doctor and be still. Sleep."

The last thing he saw before Marlon's power claimed him, was a sardonic smile on the doctor's lips.

"He's going to need it."


	7. Dominus

"Wake." Marlon's voice cut the darkness and Cal's eyes opened. He was still in the treatment room, still on the table, but the restraints had been removed. He breathed freely and while the warm relief was gone, the searing ache in his ribs, on his back, the soles of his feet - everywhere, if he was honest - had ceased, leaving only a dull reminder of pain behind. The vampire stood behind him, cold fingers resting lightly on Cal's forehead. He sensed other presences in the room, breathing, then the tuneless whistling again.

"Up. Still."

Marlon was tense, all playfulness gone.

Before Cal had time to process the order, his body reacted. The floor was cold under his bare feet. The feeling of Marlon's touch lingered.

He held still when his eyes were covered with a blindfold once again and his hands were secured behind his back with cuffs. Why did they bother? It wasn't like he was a match against Marlon or the woman. Then again, for the first time since the hit his head was more or less clear. Whatever the treatment had been, he felt much better than he should have, _could_ have. Still. Not enough to hold his ground against someone as inhumanly fast as the woman or fight against Marlon's powers.

The whistler was handling him roughly, checked the cuffs, fastened the blindfold.

"He's ready, Master."

"Bring him. You," Marlon's fingers touched Cal's bare back, "move."

The order wound its way through his spine and into his muscles, releasing them from their stillness. When the whistler grabbed hold of his biceps and directed him to follow, Cal found that he could walk.

Either they were leading him in circles or the building he was in was labyrinthine. Cal tried to gleam what information he could from his surroundings. Concentrating on what senses he could access kept him occupied, kept the creeping horror of what was to come at bay.

 _The master wants to see him._ The master the others were afraid of. The master whose son he had killed.

_Stop it. Keep walking. Listen. What do your ears tell you?_

Corridors, probably utilitarian. Rough concrete under his feet, the whistler's boots produced small, hollow echoes when they hit the floor.

A group of people passed them, quiet rattles of metal on metal. Guns. Armed guards?

Somewhere ahead a door opened, heavy, judging from the sounds of hydraulics. Whistler dragged him forward, then gave him a sharp push. Cal narrowly managed to prevent himself from falling, stumbled onto metal grating and against a cold, slick wall. An elevator? The next hand to close around his arm was cold, calloused.

"He looks better," the woman commented.

"He does. Let's hope pater is lenient. It doesn't do to share our gifts with the unworthy," Marlon answered quietly.

"Christian will answer for that." She seemed unconcerned, her voice at ease. Marlon did not answer before the elevator stopped.

The next corridor was larger, smooth, cool stones covered the floor, soft carpets every few steps. Some bends, doors, then a short pause, another door opened. Marlon's voice was reverent, when he spoke, held equal traces of love and fear.

"Dominus. Pater. We bring the weapon," he announced.

Cal was dragged forward, then harshly shoved to his knees. The woman's hand lay around his neck in a vise-like grip and turned his head downwards.

Silence filled the room.

"So, this is him, then." A man's voice, well-articulated, forceful yet unreadable, neutral. An actor's voice, a politician's. Perfectly in control.

"Remove this." The woman gripped the blindfold and ripped. Light assaulted Cal's eyes, forcing him to blink to clear his vision.

When he could see again, he found himself in a large room, empty except for a chaise lounge placed on a dais and long drapes decorating huge windows. The woman yanked his head upright by his hair and for the first time he saw the creature the other vampires called their master.

On the recliner sat a small, wiry man. Dark hair cut in a businesslike manner, an aquiline nose, black eyes mustering him. His skin was pale, yet there were memories of color on the man's lips, on his hands. The way he held himself was regal, dominating the room without thought, without even having to try. When he rose, Cal half expected hearing the rustling of a toga falling into place instead of the impeccable gray business suit.

Where had this association come from? Maybe from the murals covering the walls of the hall he found himself in. Maybe it was the aura of age that encompassed the vampire, showing the centuries hidden behind the ageless face.

The master moved silently, perfectly composed and in control. The woman stepped back when he reached Cal and stood still, his arms crossed, right elbow resting in his left palm, his hand framing his face.

"You killed my son." It wasn't an accusation, merely a statement of facts.

"You killed my Caius and to add insult to injury you cannot even tell us who sent you." Cal tried to move, but the black eyes had caught him, filled his view until there was nothing but the cold blackness of centuries.

"Marlon and Asce have hopes that I will find more where they faltered," the man continued, "but what to you think, human? Is there something to be found in what is left of your memories?"

Cal expected questions, the return of the white noise, but instead there was only nothingness.

* * *

He woke to the calm voice of the master speaking. Cal was still on his knees, but no longer the focus of attention. His head hung low, throbbing. Someone was standing next to him, the woman - Asce? - if he was not mistaken.

"Explain yourself, Christian."

In front of him, on the foot of the stairs leading up to the recliner where the old vampire reposed, stood a blond man, shifting nervously.

"He was safe. He would not have died." Cal knew the voice, had heard it before. Sullen now, greedy and tinged with barely contained bloodlust before.

_\- Can we have him now?_

_\-- No. He is not ours to give._

_\- Just let us have him for a night. Let us have some... fun. Nobody has to know._

_Hands touching him, tracing bruises and welts on his skin, groping him while the chains kept him in place._

_\- He killed my master. Let me have him for this._

_\-- Stop that! Get supplies, treat him. Make sure he'll live. The master will return soon._

Cal shuddered involuntarily. There had been hunger in Christian's voice, a hunger he had picked up on despite layers of pain and exhaustion.

"This is not what Asce reported." The vampire's words were calm, but there was menace in the room, palpable.

"She must have misjudged his injuries, dominus." Christian sounded desperate. "Or maybe Marlon exaggerated when he told her..."

There was a hint of grim amusement in the master's eyes. 

"I do not think so, Christian. Asce and Marlon might me wrong in their conclusions, but I believe that this human would not have lived for me to inspect him, had you had your say." The vampire had risen again, standing at ease, hands behind his back.

"Though I am not sure about the reasons you wanted him dead, young one. Was it revenge, Christian, or did you see a chance to cover tracks?"

The blond man flinched, then spoke hastily, stumbling over his own words: "He killed my maker, dominus. Ì wouldn't - I loved Caius! I longed to see him suffer. I just... I never wanted to -"

"Steal what is mine to judge?"

"Master, please, I never -" Christian's head sagged, defeat in every fiber of his being. "I was wrong, master. I was angry that they would not let me have him. I risked him dying of his injuries before you could pass judgement. But he shot Caius," the stuttering voice turned into a wail, "he murdered him. Took my maker..." Cal was surprised to see Christian's shoulders twitch. Was the man - the vampire - crying?

"You are young, Christian, but old enough to know better." The vampire had started pacing on the dais; three steps to the left, three steps to the right. Repeat. His feed made no sound on the polished black floor. Christian had dropped to his knees, wringing his hands, his eyes never leaving the older vampire.

"Very well. I do accept that your actions stemmed from a desire for vengeance. I know the pain of losing one's own blood and the madness it might bring," he stopped, his gaze resting on Cal for a second, "nevertheless you know the rules and you know protocol. You overstepped your bounds and have your elders to thank for the fact that no permanent damage was done. This is my judgement: You will fast until I see it fit to release you back into my court."

"Please, master, dominus, please no." Christian cowered on the floor, his hands raised in supplication.

"Asce, escort the young one to the rooms of silence. He will have his chance to learn." With a small gesture of an impeccably manicured hand, the blond vampire was dismissed. Asce left Cal's side and dragged the sobbing Christian out of the hall.

"Now to you, human." Once again Cal found himself in the spotlight of the black eyes.

"Catspaw of an unknown enemy you may have been - the gods know my son was good at creating them - but it was _your_ hand that ended my son's life." The vampire's lips twitched, for the first time showing raw emotion, a furious anger kept in check by willpower.

"Yet, who would I be to break a mere tool for doing what it was made to do. You will live, for now. The first part of your punishment will be meted out tomorrow night once the court has assembled. Marlon," another gesture, "keep him near and in the dark while we rest. Give him time to think."

Marlon bowed, then yanked Cal upright and led him to a smaller door on the left wall while the old vampire returned to his recliner.

* * *

The cell Marlon left him in was bare, cold and - once the door had closed silently - completely dark. Cal cowered into a corner, leant against the tiled walls and tried to control his breathing. He closed his eyes against the darkness, pulled his knees up to his chest in the hope of preserving what little body heat he had.

_Time to think._

He longed for unconsciousness, but the cold and the darkness kept him awake.


	8. Court

In the darkness minutes felt like hours, hours like years. Cal had been shivering constantly for an eternity and the cuffs holding his hands behind his back burned like dry ice.

Vampires slept at day - or rested, whatever you wanted to call it. How late had it been when they had brought him before the master? How long till the next dusk?

_If I'm lucky, I'll somehow manage to freeze to death before they return._

No chance for this, of course. It was achingly cold in the cell (and it felt at least six degree colder because of the damn darkness), but not cold enough to kill him.

They knew what the were doing. He wondered how Christian in his _room of silence_ fared. Not better than him, he was willing to bet. No sounds except for his breathing, his heartbeat. Nothing but undefined blackness and deafening silence.

The door opened and the bright light assaulted him with a suddenness that made Cal hiss in pain.

It took time until he managed to open his eyes, even the light filtering trough his lids stung. When he could make out his surroundings again, he found himself shoved into a tiled room. Grating for floor, a shower overhead, a hose on the wall, chains and hooks to fasten them on.

One of his handlers opened the cuffs, then locked his arms in front of him and secured the cuffs to a chain dangling from the ceiling. A mechanism clicked and he was forced upright, standing, arms secured over his head.

It was the first time he managed to see the whistler (as far as he was able to see, his eyes had not accustomed to the light just yet and it _hurt_ ): A muscular man, light skin, short-cropped dark hair, stepping back now, the aggravating whistle never ceasing.

"Help me keep him still while I prepare him." A new voice. Female. Somewhere behind him.

Whistler was sure of himself, Cal did not have to be able to see clearly to read as much in his pose, his swagger. Whatever punishment had befallen Christian, Whistler seemed to have gotten away. Maybe not important enough?

He stepped forward again, reached out and gripped Cal's chin.

"Such a nice face to show the court," he chuckled. Cal closed his eyes and tried to turn away from Whistler.

"Let's not have that, hm?" The man was definitely aiming for the effortless aloofness of Marlon's voice. Aiming for and failing. His fingers pressed into Cal's jaw, _wandering hands_ , much too close for comfort.

"Don't want to talk to me, hm?" Cal blinked. Whistler's face swam into focus. Cold eyes, a glimmer of, what, anticipation? A sadist. A thumb brushed against his lips.

Cal lunged and bit.

Whistler screamed, trying to wrench his hand free. Skin broke under Cal's teeth, something snapped, then he felt the hardness of bone.

Quick steps behind him, then a syringe jammed into his neck and, suddenly, the world was out of focus again. Cal let go of Whistler's fingers. He barely felt the backhand slap that let his head snap back over the encroaching nothing.

* * *

He woke wet and hanging from his wrists. No whistling. At least that was something. A woman was rubbing his hair with a towel, pausing to check for signs of consciousness and stepping back once he blinked.

"You'll be fully awake in a minute or so," she stated, "Do I have to sedate you again or will you let me do my job?"

Cal organized thoughts and sensory inputs.

He was naked, wet (warm water this time); there were shackles on his ankles (probably to keep him from kicking); he no longer smelled of sweat (or worse things); a hint of coppery taste in his mouth (Whistler had bled). In front of him the woman held an auto injector up for inspection.

"Will you cooperate or do I have to use this?" It wasn't the first time he'd come out of a twilight sleep, there had been times _before_ , back in the days he still hardly remembered, where they had kept him under with something like this - to treat wounds, to induce anesthesia...

"Hey!" The woman was small, beautiful. Blond hair, a sleeveless shirt over short trousers showing tanned skin. Big hazel eyes, delicate features, frowning now.

"Okay," was all he managed.

Cal held still while the woman finished toweling him, freed his legs, then let him lower his hands. She fetched a cup from a table somewhere to the left.

"Here. Rinse. There's blood on your teeth." A second's pause.

"You may swallow it, if you like." The fluid was cool and tasted vaguely of mint and herbs. Not made for drinking, but he was thirsty. The woman busied herself until it was time to take the empty cup from him, then exchanged it for a pair of black trousers.

"Put those on. They'll come for you soon."

While crouching on the grate to dress himself, Cal had time to check his body. No marks or scars from the interrogations. His ribs felt normal. What the hell had they given him? He was clean, no speck of dirt remaining. They had shaved him. What the hell were they planning?

No time for thought. Behind him a door opened and he saw the woman bow, deeply, reverently. A servant's bow.

Asce unclipped the chain from his cuffs and dragged a bag roughly over Cal's head. No words, just a push in a direction. Cal let her lead him out of the room.

* * *

Murmurs and quiet voices filled the great hall. Asce, firm grip on his neck now, guided Cal over the mirror-blank floor. A sharp kick and a push brought him to his knees.

"I present to you: The weapon that was sent to rip Caius, my last remaining son, out of our midst." The master's voice. Calm, carrying.

Asce pulled the bag away. The court was assembled. Men and women in a variety of attire regarded him. Most of them were dressed for a formal event, others wore anachronistic clothing. A young woman in what looked like a dress from the 1920s flashed a fang at him. The young man next to her, his hand on her arm, wore clothing similar to the servant that had cleaned him.

There were others like him, some carrying trays, others standing by, waiting for orders. Guards were placed around the room, unobtrusive, part of the ambience. Warm light, the windows all but black mirrors. Behind him, the master continued:

"He was a mere slave to an unknown enemy, a slave he will stay and like a slave he will be scourged." An old woman nodded, mustering Cal with disdain. Marlon stood in the crowd, a smile on his lips. He caught Cal's eye and winked. 

"Secure him, Asce. You will wield the flagellum." Cal tried to struggle but it was no use. He was dragged around to face the master on his recliner.

In front of the dais two posts had been erected, must have been anchored in prepared mounts. Chains, dark on light wood, long enough to secure a prisoner between them.

Asce unlinked his cuffs, then connected them to the bindings, pulled taught until he knelt upright, arms stretched as far as possible. Cal managed to grab the chains to steady himself, while cold, numb terror muffled his surroundings.

Whistler stood next to the dais. His right hand was wrapped in a dark bandage and he scowled at Cal. He held a long, multi thonged whip, black, gleaming in the soft shine of lamps and candelabras. Once the man realized that Cal had noticed him, his scowl turned into a grin, the uninjured thumb stroked the handle lovingly.

"Begin."

Asce held out a hand and Whistler handed her the scourge, grinning broadly now. Eager. Expectant. The woman hung her scabbard on one of the posts, then stepped behind Cal. 

The whip cut the air, a small warning, before lines of ripping, burning pain were drawn across his back.The blow threw him forward, the chains his only hold.

No break, no time to draw breath, before the second stroke hit. Fresh fire on his back, streams of agony. A scream rang out, his own voice. Hushed whispers behind him, approving, then the flagellum came down again, again and again.

Three strokes became five, became ten.

Cal's knees buckled and he had long ago stopped trying to keep the screams and whimpers at bay.

Fifteen. Behind him, Asce moved. He gasped, fighting for air. From his dais, the master watched him calmly. Dark eyes on his face, considering. Then a wave of his hand, a minuscule gesture and the whip found its mark again.

Blood trickled down his back, small but steady streams. The flagellum's stiff tails bit and ripped skin away, each stroke digging deeper. Twenty? Had he lost count? Cal screamed hoarsely with whatever voice and breath he had left.

Twenty became twenty-five.

The master was smiling now, obviously enjoying the view. Cal was panting, barely managing not to throw up what little he had drunk.

Thirty. He wasn't here. Long gone. Soon. Not here.

_Not long now._

He would not survive this scouring and when the next lash hit him, Cal hoped against all hope that this would be the final one, the one that pushed him over the edge into the beyond. The sounds that fought their way through his constricted throat were not his own.

His voice finally gave out somewhere around the fortieth blow.

A while later, the torture ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's far too late and I'll have to catch a train in a few hours. But I posted something and that's good.


	9. Slave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the tags. Trigger warning.

Out of blessed nothing, consciousness came and went in waves.

Quiet steps on a mirror floor. The murmur of a crowd. Harp music playing somewhere to the left.

Nothing.

Voices, near now, chuckling.

Nothing.

A woman talking, quietly.

The Master, stern voice appreciative.

Nothing.

He was laying on his side, arms somewhere in front of him. Cool wetness, sticky, underneath. Blood. He was laying in a pool of his own blood.

Cal's back felt numb, the coldness lurking on the other side of hurt. Nerves threatened to scream once they were able to send impulses along. He shuddered and the involuntary movement brought a stab of white-hot pain. He groaned softly, his throat raw.

Nothing.

When he managed to open his eyes an undefinable while later, Cal was on the floor, next to the steps leading up to the dais. His hands were chained again, a silvery bond connecting his wrists to a ring in the floor. The whipping posts had been removed and the audience had thinned. In the soft light he could make out Asce's silhouette next to him. Guarding, rigid. Sword on her back, scourge nowhere in sight.

The court, _Vampires, most of them vampires_ , his mind screamed at him had split into smaller groups. The atmosphere was relaxed, cordial. People - _vampires. God damned vampires and you are covered in blood!_ \- were talking, sipping dark liquid from long-stemmed glasses, servants moving silently between them.

Ignoring him. Or did they?

A huge man in a dark leather coat, old-fashioned, cut like something out of a movie, was conversing with the master. Blood-red eyes glancing towards Cal, a measuring, hungry gaze.

Cal's nerves were waking slowly. First flashes of biting, burning ache along the mess that was his back. Was there permanent damage? Could he move his arms? He was afraid to try.

_The slave has been punished._

He tried to raise his head, look around.

Darkness returned and the last thing he felt was thankfulness.

* * *

He was unable to stand - would have been unable to crawl - when the soiree ended and servants hauled him upright. Suddenly the ripping, tearing, white-hot, ice-cold pain was back, hit him like the whip all over again. He would have screamed, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper.

"... him?" one of the men holding him asked, his voice slowly emerging from the white noise of agony.

"No." He knew this voice. Female, soft. The woman that had cleaned him up. Firm, despite her servant's - _slave's?_ \- attire.

"Dominus wants him. Take the slave to his chambers."

"Like this?" A hand covered by a bandage jostled him, and Cal whimpered quietly. Whistler. 

"Yes, like this, you idiot. Don't let dominus wait." The woman sounded annoyed.

_Nobody likes Whistler._

The thought was not distracting enough to drown out the pain when they dragged him out of the room.

* * *

He tried to fight when they pushed him onto the bed, but he was way to weak to escape their grip.

Whistler laughed at Cal's feeble attempts to plant his feet and slapped his back hard enough to catapult Cal back into the darkness for a moment.

Cal came to as Whistler was connecting a silvery chain hanging from the ceiling to his cuffs, forcing him to kneel upright, hands raised, wounds reopening under the strain. The man grinned, visibly enjoying the moment. Off to the side, the blond woman stood, wordlessly shaking her head at the guard, next to her a slim young man glared at Cal. Whistler roughly dragged the black trousers down, away from him, leaving him naked, without protection.

Somewhere behind the broad bed with its silky sheets, the abundance of pillows, the gauzy hangings drifting in the breeze a door opened. The woman bowed deeply and stepped forward, as Cal tried to twist around, still in the grip of the panic that had risen at the sight of the bedroom, at the knowledge what was about to happen.

_No, no, please, no._

The master's hand on his neck let him freeze.

"Hold." Calm, self-assured, a voice stating what was about to be. Out of the corner of his eye Cal saw him nod, watched the woman remove the man's jacket, tie, shirt with practiced ease. The young man knelt down, loosened the vampire's shoelaces.

The voice in the back of his mind was still screaming, wordlessly pleading, fear almost deep enough to drown out the throbbing of his back.

He felt the bed move under him, saw the two servants stepping back to their places the left and right of the headboard. The woman handed the discarded clothes to a waiting man, then folded her hands, calm eyes on the master. The order still held him, did not allow him to squirm away from the master's hands on his arms, his shoulders, his hips. He heard the vampire laugh.

"Such a wonderful mess, slave." A cold finger dragged along ripped skin, spreading its chill, dipped into one of the open wounds; a small additional pain to heap upon the agony. Smacking of lips, a vulgar sound.

"My dear Asce was right. You _are_ delicious, slave."

The fear was huge enough to wrench speech from damaged vocal cords. "Please, don't, please, I -" Cal managed to rasp.

"Hush." the master commanded. "You will be silent, slave. You will not fight me. You will hold still and you will relax - as much as possible." The finger was back, stroking along his flank, wandering deeper. The vampire chuckled.

"You may cry, though, slave. But do so quietly."

A tongue slid along his back, cold lips sucked on one of the bleeding slashes. Icy hands grasped Cal's hips, positioned him on the bed. Cleaned. He had been thoroughly cleaned while he had been under, inside and out. How could the woman simply stand there?

_No, no. This isn't happening. Stop it, please._

The hands wandered over his back again, the order suppressing his instinctual reaction to the pain.

A cold body behind him, strong legs nudging his knees apart.

 _Don't. Please, no. Don't._ Cal shut his eyes tightly.

Fingers parting him, steady hands, another lick along his back. Pressure at his entrance, one of the master's hands steadying on his pelvis.

_No! Please, don't!_

With a grunt the vampire speared Cal. The smooth, silky, unearthly cold head pushed inside him, pain not only on his back but also inside, burning him.

_nonononono_

Slowly, deliberately, the master began to pump, every stroke digging deeper.

_please. no. please._

Cal wanted to scream, to cry out, when he felt his skin tear, new wetness trickling down his thighs, but the master's order held him in a grip harder than the vampire's arms. The cold body at his back - _inside him_ \- enveloped him, reached up around Cal's torso, grabbed his head and forced it to the side. The vampire's movements grew more urgent, the white-hot, freezing cold member slashing Cal's insides faster and faster.

_please._

A smooth, muscular breast pressed against Cal's back, icy lips touched his neck, then a new, searing pain when the master found his jugular vein and fangs pierced his skin. Scream and struggle were smothered by the compulsion to obey, to keep still; meek prey in the power of the vampire. 

Wordlessly, Cal cried, as the sucking began, as the blood from his back mixed with the blood on his legs, as the master rutted in him, jerked his whole body with powerful thrusts, until darkness finally claimed him.

_please, oh, god, please let it be over so-  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man, I'm really unsure about this chapter. Did I mess it up? Will probably edit once I proof-read.


	10. Pull

Blood loss and dehydration added up to a feeling of unrealness, a padded reality. Cal's head swam, every impulse seeming to take hours to reach him through the shrouding fog, his reactions slowed.

Warm hands pulled and pushed, removed him from the bed, helped him kneel on the soft, luxurious carpet. The woman was gone, had left the room on a wink of the master's hand. The young man was still there, gripped Cal's shoulders, held him upright.

On the silken sheets, the master stretched, satisfied, fed. Dark stains covered his face, arms and chest, a stark contrast to the smooth and pale skin.

_My blood._

Slowly the vampire sat up and gazed at Cal with his dark, unreadable eyes. Waiting. Amused?

_Amused._

Something stirred in Cal's mind. The anger that had enabled him to bite Whistler reared his head, started to shove humiliation and pain aside.

"Only one task left, slave," the master murmured quietly, sitting up. "You will thank me for the attention I have bestowed upon you." He reached down, his fingers warm now.

_Warm, because he drank my blood._

_Bastard._

Slowly the fingers stroked along Cal's jaw line, touched his lips, his neck. Could he bite? No, the vampire would expect it. Would he?

"So silent?" The master's gentle voice was mocking him, but with touch and word the enforced passivity disappeared.

_He wants me to react._

Cal concentrated on the muscles in his arms.

_Don't think of the pain, focus on the movement. Up. Just a little more..._

His shoulders burned and the movement made the slashes sing out in freshly awakened torment. Cal grit his teeth.

"You will thank me, slave," the master ordered, sternly now, "and I will not have to force you." His grip tightened, would have been painful if there hadn't been enough other pains to drown it out.

His hand reached the master's wrist, touched blood-splattered skin, found its way to the fingers. The vampire watched him, certain of his victory. Cal swallowed, throat still raw, dry.

A memory from before, from the time when he'd been someone else breached the surface.

_Do it right, boys and you won't need much force. Just get the angle right and -_

Under the vampire's calm gaze, he grabbed the hand holding his chin.

_Just get the angle right and_

pull.

Cal's grip around the master's annulary and auricular fingers held long enough to wrench the digits from their sockets when cal let himself drop, using body weight to compensate for missing strength. A hiss above him, from his place on the floor he saw the vampire lifting his arm, two fingers twisted and limp. With a snarl the young man was upon him, kicking, punching, going for his throat.

 _Never been trained. This one doesn't know what he's doing,_ a cool, clinical part of Cal commented while exhaustion rose with every heartbeat, with every breath. Dark circles danced on the fields of his vision as the slender fingers clawed, throttled.

The pressure vanished suddenly and through bleary eyes he saw the master, standing now, one hand on the young man's shoulder. The slave clung to the vampire's leg, eyes blazing, full of hatred. The old vampire, however, smiled.

"Such a spirit, slave. Unexpected." With a dry crunch he wrenched his fingers back into place, smile never wavering.

"I could have made you enjoy it, you know?" The master patted the young man's head gently, then crouched next to Cal. "But I think", he mused, "We shall preserve this... delightful character of yours, hm?" Cal was too exhausted to move, to even think of swatting at the hand that stroked his matted hair.

"You will live, slave, and we shall do something about your... more aggressive tendencies." Slowly the vampire leaned forward, came close, a lover about to initiate a kiss. "And we will keep your mind whole, slave, don't you worry," he whispered, then rose abruptly.

Two claps of his hands summoned the woman and guards. Strong hands grabbed Cal, pulled him back, dragged him out of the room. The vampire stood, the small smile on his lips reaching up to his eyes; new fire burning in the midst of centuries.

* * *

The doctor looked disgruntled when Whistler and his companion dumped Cal on the floor of her treatment room.

"I guess you need him fixed?" she asked, low voice annoyed. The woman stepped forward, gesturing Whistler back to the door.

"Yes, please, Petrá. The master wishes to keep him."

The doctor sighed. "He's lost a lot of blood and his back -" she shook her head. "Has the master had him?"

"He claimed him, yes. But this one is strong. He is still alive." The woman leant over to the doctor - Petrá - and whispered: "He tried to fight master. The master thinks him delightful." Sparkling hazel eyes, an exciting secret shared between intimate friends.

"Huh. That's a new one." Petrá sighed. "He'll need the treatment. Get an older one, Marlon maybe - and hurry." The woman turned and left the room in a trot. The doctor straightened and waved to Whistler.

"You, help me with the slave. Put him on the table."

Whistler and his nameless companion were none too gentle when they grabbed Cal again and hoisted him up on the operation table. Through black spots and agony Cal heard the doctor yell at them for throwing him on his back, but her voice was far away, drifting further and further with each heartbeat, and he let go.

* * *

He was laying on his back. Soft light, silence. Smooth fabric on his skin, under his head. Not too warm, not too cold.

No longer hurting. Normal tactile sensations. Where was he? Why should it hurt?

Memories rose, assaulted him; suffocating, painful.

The whip, cutting him to pieces.

The master and his touches.

His rape.

Cal yelped and forced his eyes open. With his heart hammering in his chest he looked around. A clean, white room, small, dimmed lights.

_The master behind him, shoving, hurting -_

_Stop it!_

A clean, white room. Small. Dimmed lights. No window he could see.

_Sharp canines cutting into his neck, cold lips closing upon warm blood._

_Stop!_

Clean room. Small room. Lights. No window. He was no longer naked, wore clean black trousers. Restraints around his wrists and ankles, holding him in place. Again.

_Arms straining, his back in ripping, blazing agony, each thrust going deeper -_

_Stop. No pain._

Clean room. Small. Lights. Trousers.

Clean room. Small. Lights.

Clean room. Small.

Slowly the panic subsided. He was alive. His wounds had been healed. Whatever their treatment was, it had brought him back once again. No longer thirsty, his throat no longer raw and dry. He let his head drop back on the mattress. More than anything else he wanted to sleep, but in the shadows behind his eyelids the master waited with his his smile, his hands, his cold touch.

He lay in the silence, once again counting his heartbeats, waiting for what was to come and longing for nothingness.


	11. Collar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the tags. Trigger warning.

Sleep had not been an option, but breathing calmly and counting heartbeats kept the panic at bay until the door opened again. Cal did not try to struggle when Whistler and a second guard grabbed him, hauled him to his feet and pushed him outside. The woman was waiting, watching him with a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Follow me," she said calmly. Whistler's fingers closed around Cal's neck, but a slender hand made him hesitate.

"Cal will follow me on his own. There is no need for violence," the woman stated, her voice devoid of warmth. She looked at Cal.

"Will you?" The smile was back. Cal closed his eyes, then nodded.

"Great." The woman clapped her hands and pointed down a long, utilitarian corridor. "You, come with me. You - keep your distance," she told Whistler firmly.

The guards' persuasive actions were required once the woman led him into a big, impressively furnished sitting room and bowed to the vampire reclining on a leather couch. Cal's muscles seized, fresh memories flushed his mind. _Pain, tearing, blood, an icy body slowly growing warmer as his life slipped away._

Whistler punched him in the back. When he twisted to block the next blow, the other guard stepped in. After a few, swift punches to his solar plexus, Cal sagged in their grip. Together they dragged him in front of the old vampire and shoved him to his knees. The master chuckled.

"You seem quite refreshed, slave. Plucky." He turned to look at the woman.

"Did he cause you any trouble, Mari?" Golden hair glinted in the Candlelight as she shook her head.

"No, dominus. He only balked when he saw you." Her smile was forgiving. "He is not used to your presence, master."

The vampire laughed softly.

"He will have time to learn. Get the collar, Mari." He turned to the guards. "You two, out."

When the door had closed behind them, the master leaned forward, hands resting on his knees. Cal lowered his head, trying to avoid the black eyes, the benevolent smile that belied the monster beneath the calm exterior. Dark leather shoes, matching trousers, an antique rug over mahogany floor. _Concentrate on the details._ _Everything is better than him._

"Look at me." The voice carried the compulsion he had learned to hate and he jerked upright.

"Better." The vampire cocked his head. "Why do you try to fight me, slave? You know you cannot prevail, and yet you remain disobedient."

Cal clenched his teeth and remained silent. No force behind the question, he did not have to answer. The vampire seemed amused instead of angry. Cal felt his gaze roam over his bare chest, heavy like an unwelcome, intimate touch. When the woman - Mari - returned, he almost felt relieved. She held something dark in her hands, presented it to the vampire, then stepped behind Cal, a warm presence at his back, alive, breathing. Her hand alighted on his shoulder and the vampire nodded.

He felt something cold brush over his skin, not a blade, but metal, supple, not too heavy, but present enough to be noticed. The woman's arms encircled him as she closed the collar around his neck. The metal seemed to constrict, to move along his throat. A short, sharp shock, a line of fire drawn along his skin, made him yelp and he felt the warm trickle of blood. Mari's hands were still on his shoulders, on his chest.  
  
"Shhh. It'll be over soon," she soothed. Something seemed to burrow into his skin, drill deeper, much deeper, right into his skull, his mind... Then it stopped and the pain subsided. Where cool metal had been was warmth now. Cal reached up with trembling fingers and touched the collar. A snake chain, only a quarter of an inch in diameter, seemed to have molded itself to his neck. For a second he feared that the smooth metal had fused to his skin, but he was able to move it.

The vampire folded his hands.

"You will address me as Master, slave. You will now approach me and kiss my feet." Before he realized what he was doing, Cal's body moved, shoved words over numb lips.

"Yes, master," he stammered, while his knees dragged him forward, his back bent down until his face touched the vampire's leather shoes. This was not the urge to obey to commands, this was his body no longer reacting to the frantic orders his brain was screaming.

Only when he rose again in an upright kneeling position he regained control over his limbs. With a strangled cry he wanted to get up, grab the woman still standing next to him, attack - _hurt, rend, maim_ \- the vampire - _Master, he is your master_ \- but the second began to move, the collar seemed to twitch and there was only darkness and pain. His body stopped in mid-reach, seized, spasms racking him. Cal was on fire, drowning in acid, suffocating, fighting for a last breath, wanted to scream - and opened his eyes. The woman shook her head, not angry, but understanding.

Above him, the vampire laughed.

"The collar, slave, will help you obey my orders - and those of others in my household, if I so see fit. It is tied to my blood, and to yours as well. If you try to act against me, yourself, or one of my household, it will punish you. You will do as I wish, at all times." He reached down and stroked Cal's matted hair.

"It will not act on thoughts, slave, don't you worry. Your precious mind will remain your own. Your body, however, is mine and you would do well to remember it." The cold fingers patted his cheek, then slid down to his neck, returned to pale lips, red with blood.

On a nod of the regal head, Cal's body betrayed him once again, shuffled next to the couch, leaned lightly against the vampire's legs; his right arm rose, stretched, presenting his wrist. This time he saw the fangs slide out. Sharp, pointed, inhuman. His instincts told him to run, to flee, to get away and yet he remained motionless, a mere spectator, as the vampire bit him. The bite hurt and when the monster - _his master, he is your master_ \- began to draw blood the sucking feeling was uncomfortable. Once again he tried to act, tried his best to wrench out of the master's grip, his attempts foiled by his own body and rewarded with a short, sharp jab of the collar's punishment.

Only when the vampire released him, control returned. Cal felt his heart hammer in his chest, felt blood rush back into his hand. The fangs were gone, pearly white teeth back where they were supposed to be. Warming fingers rested lightly on his head as the master sighed contently. 

"It's a pity that I have to pace myself, slave. You truly are a treat." The vampire rose and looked at Mari.

"Bring him to my chambers and chain him to the post. I know he won't fight, but I _do_ love a bound slave. I wished his hair was darker, it would make for a pleasant contrast with the silver..." His voice trailed off as Mari bowed and motioned Cal to follow. In spite of the frantic pleading in his head he rose and let her lead him out of the room.

* * *

Mari was gentle when she had him kneel, fastened cuffs around his wrists, and finally connected them to short chains hanging from a dark stone pillar in the middle of the tiled, windowless room. She hunkered down and stroked his shoulder, compassion in her eyes.

"Don't be afraid. You are in the master's hands now. Don't fight. There's no need to." Mari rose to leave, but turned around when she reached the door.

"We have given you Marlon's blood. It will sustain you, help you heal. Do not worry if he has to punish you. The wounds won't be permanent." With a last, encouraging smile she left, softly closing the door behind her.

The lights went out, and Cal knelt in darkness, felt cool stone in his back and stared into the nothing surrounding him. He tried the shackles, but despite their silvery shimmer they held fast.

The dark ate away at his mind, nibbled thoughts and left him weak. _Don't fight. There's no need_ _to._ Mari's voice had been so calm, so friendly, her touch soothing, reassuring, and yet she obeyed this monster in a human shell - _master, he is master_ \- without a glimmer of doubt. _In the master's hands now._ Cal wanted to scream, but the darkness and the presence of the collar around his neck swallowed his will to fight.

When the master entered the room, the lights were a relief, despite the pain they caused. He stared at the floor, unwilling to look at his captor - _master_ \- voluntarily. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched Mari, once again the master's shadow, help him out of his suit coat, saw her bow and leave. Rolling up his sleeves, the vampire approached Cal, stepped around him, an appreciative spectator admiring a work of art.

"Beautiful," he stated, beginning to circle him. Cal closed his eyes. The vampires steps stopped in front of him and Cal sighed inwardly when he heard leather slide against fabric; a belt being removed. More lashes? Soft rustling of cloth, then the sound of a zipper. Cal froze.

The master's will took over, had him open his eyes and raise his head.

"You will not fight me, slave. No biting."

He wanted to evade the grip in his hair, tried in vain to keep his mouth closed, but his muscles betrayed him. Cal could not help but whimper when his lips parted and the master's cool member slid over his tongue, further down, far back into his throat, suffocating him.

He felt the vampire's cock harden in his mouth, saw the vampire relax and close his eyes; the master's fingers slid over his jaw and the man began to hump in a slow, steady rhythm. Cal tried to breathe, felt panic rise, saw dark circles dance before his eyes, then, shortly before he could flee into unconsciousness, the master relented, drew back, let him gulp for air. One breath, two, three - then the slow, deliberate strokes set in again.

Cal did not now how long the vampire used him, how long it took until he came in his mouth, the collar making him swallow dead sperm without throwing up. All he knew was that he felt empty, hollow, too spent to fight when Whistler came to lead him back to another empty cell.

"Learned your lesson?" the guard hissed before he locked the door behind him. Cal sagged against a wall, too tired even to retreat into the scant safety of a corner.

 _Learned your lesson._ They had taken away the compulsion to end his life. The new, fervent wish for all of this to be finally over was entirely his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, took me far too long to post. I was out of the country and internet was scarce.


	12. Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning. Please heed the tags.

There were many lessons Cal had to learn - _endure,_ he protested, _endure_ \- in the next days or weeks.

The first lesson was how isolation affected him.

His cell was empty. No bed, no restraints, a featureless white room. The light source was fixed behind a translucent ceiling panel and the light never changed. He felt no thirst or hunger. Whatever the blood they had given him did, it still seemed to work.

The temperature was constant as well. It was cool, but not cold.

He learned to sleep with his face burrowed in his arms, to keep out the light.

He learned to count the threads in his black cotton trousers to keep the nothingness at bay.

He learned how loud his own heartbeat sounded in the silence and how much noise his blood made.

The collar was silent. Nobody was present to give him any orders. The only exception was the day? night? he tried to hurt himself by slamming his head against a wall.

Physical exertion held the silence at bay, but once exhaustion set in, the quiet crept back in.

He did his best to remember things he was sure to have known, but his past still consisted or more empty spaces than memories. 

He managed to recite parts of a handbook of a firearm he must have known; parts of a book he must have read, but nothing really connected the islands in the sea of forgotten time.

Cal tried to keep calm, but there were voices and memories in the whiteness.

_Mal, grinning at him, beads of sweat on her head in the desert sun._

_Mal's body, falling._

_The master. Pain. Humiliation._

_Someone dragging him into cover, pressing a bandage on a wound, the grin again. Mal, saving his life._

_Mari's soft touch, a poisoned kindness._

_Mal dozing next to him, catnapping in their hide. Brother and sister. One soul._

_The master's hands on his body._

_Pain._

_Humiliation._

More than once he screamed against the nothingness.

Sometimes he sobbed.

* * *

When Whistler came to fetch him, Cal had to restrain himself from falling to the man's feet, from begging for any form of human touch. Whistler's hand was no longer covered, but he moved his thumb slowly, stiffly. His grip was rough, when Cal was too slow to react, each nudge was swiftly followed up with a slap or a punch.

The master awaited him in the room with the dark stone pillar, smiling his thin-lipped smile, and motioned for to Cal to approach. He stopped, hesitating in Whistler's grip.

"Move, slave," Whistler hissed. Another shove had Cal stumble towards the vampire. The man watched him, the sardonic smile never leaving his face, and raised two fingers in a _come here_ gesture. No force behind the motion, yet.

_Pain._

_Humiliation._

Cal remained motionless.

There was a limit on what he was prepared to endure in exchange for contact of any kind.

* * *

The next lesson he learned was that although his interrogation seemed to be over, the cellar rooms were still a hell he could find himself back in. Icy water, beatings and the cattle prod showed him, how the master felt about resistance.

No vampire talked to him, this time, although he suspected that Marlon had been around once. At some point during his time in the cellar rooms, the borrowed restorative power of the vampire blood had faded, leaving him weak, exhausted and hurt.

A blindfold he was unable to remove, the collar blocking every try that made it past the thought stage, left him even more helpless than the bindings.

When he was handed over to Mari, he was too weak to do anything but kneel at her feet.

"Oh, Cal," she admonished, warmly, "why do you have to make everything so difficult? Was the time in the room of silence not enough?"

He learned to hold still when she cleaned him with a soft cloth.

He let her shave him, let her wash his hair as far as the blindfold permitted, accepted fresh trousers from her, as well as a few sips of a herbal brew. She did not comment on his trembling hands or the shudder when she doused him with warm water.

* * *

The master removed the blindfold himself, once Whistler and another guard had manhandled him onto the bed, once the collar had kept his body frozen once more.

In spite of the dim lighting, Cal's optic nerves screamed.

"So, slave, will I have to force you this time?" The vampire's voice exuded its usual calm, mocking self-assurance. Cal closed his eyes, his hands clenched into fists. His remaining willpower was enough to stifle a sob, but not enough to stop himself from trembling.

"You will answer me, slave."

_One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three. Four. Nevernevernevernevernevernever. Five. Six._

"Why do you insist on fighting me?" the master sighed and Cal felt his body move on its own.

_Seven. Eight - nine - ten - eleventwelvethirteenfour- nononopleaseno -_

* * *

His next rape was followed by disciplinary measures for his behavior, administered by the master himself in the room adjacent to his bedchambers.

He learned that the vampire preferred a slim whip for private punishments, not the maiming, killing flagellum used for larger transgressions and public whippings in court.

He learned that the master liked to use chains, even though the collar would have kept Cal rigid.

He learned that the sight of his blood, his whimpers that turned into screams as the whipping progressed, his futile struggles against the bindings aroused the vampire enough to push him against the pillar and violate him again.

The relaxation the collar had forced upon Cal had resulted in fewer injuries, but after the vampire had taken him a second time, had finished whipping him, had used his mouth and then forced him to cower at his feet, Cal would have been unable to stand. Numbly, he watched as blood pooled around his legs.

He learned that Mari, in spite of all the kindness she showed him, stood by and let him get hurt.

He learned that Petrá did not care for how he felt when she checked him before administering another injection of vampire blood. When he twitched under her clinical ministrations she slapped him across the face twice, hard, and hissed at him to keep still.

Cal tried to put up a fight when Whistler came to take him - _not the cell again, not the whiteness, not the nothing, never again_ \- but the collar quieted him.

No blindfold this time and the door Whistler unlocked was different than the one to the white and empty room. No bed, but a low cot, no blanket, but a thin sheet. No light switch, but the room was not monochrome. A cell, just a cell.

He curled up on the cot, dragged the sheet over himself and tried to find a way back into unconsciousness.


	13. Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this was a long break. Sorry for the silence. I'm afraid this new part sucks, but I'm going to post it anyway.

Cal had almost gotten used to his captivity. The presence of a day and night cycle made things a little more bearable. The lights in his cell switched off for what must have been a few hours in regular intervals, separating night and day. It was a twisted routine, but it was better than the eternal brightness of the isolation cells or the darkness behind the blindfold. Cal never saw the sun, but when the master brought him to court he often caught a glimpse of the moon outside. Tonight the moon was waning. At least three months, then, if he was not mistaken.

While the master never ceased trying to make Cal obey his orders without imposing his will on him or having the collar take over (and seemed to be delighted whenever Cal tried to fight, the bastard - _master_ \- bastard), he never risked a loss of control in front of his subjects.

Spoken orders were not required for the collar to take effect, whatever magic fueled the device was linked to the master's wishes. Thanks to the collar, the new slave was docile, pliant in the eyes of the visitors. Cal wanted to scream when the master discussed the case of his murdered son, when he offered Cal to other vampires as if he was a drink of fine wine or a good cigar, but his face stayed blank and his body obeyed the minuscule gestures. Currently he knelt upright, head slightly bowed, hands held behind his back. Motionless, not a person, a decoration.

The master was some kind of ruler among his kind. Undead came to court to meet, to discuss their affairs, to have quarrels mediated. To see the master and be seen talking to him. While important matters were discussed behind closed doors, the master seemed to prefer the court setting and had his meetings here whenever possible.

Tonight's gathering was small, only half a dozen vampires with their entourages. Milo, the dark-haired young slave that had attacked Cal with such ferocity after he had dislocated the master's fingers, stood in his usual place behind his beloved dominus and gently massaged the man's neck.

Whenever the master had Cal brought to his chambers to take him - _whenever the bastard raped him, it was rape and it stayed rape and Cal hated it when he thought about the violation in the words that seemed to seep from the collar, to invade his mind_ \- Milo's aversion to Cal grew. Cal understood that the young man usually shared the master's bed, a position he seemed to enjoy.

"He's jealous," Mari had explained one night when she escorted Cal back to his cell from a visit to Petrá for another injection of the blood that kept him healthy.

"Milo loves the master - as do I. But for him it is always hard when the master takes a fancy to another servant. Give him time. He will warm up to you." Mari with her warmth, her friendly smile, her soft touches, her seemingly endless love and devotion to the monster she served. Cal could not figure her out.

The old vampire sat deep in conversation with a pale woman in casual business attire. Cal had never seen her before, but the master was relaxed with her, seemed to truly appreciate her company. Additional recliners and low stools had been arranged on the dais tonight, allowing for longer talks in comfort. In front of the wide windows a small group of vampires discussed something they saw outside. Asce stood motionless next to the group, her head moving to keep an eye on the court.

Soft steps approached the dais. Mari softly stroked Cal's hair as she passed him on her way to the visitors. The woman accepted the crystal flute filled with dark fluid Mari served her with a bow without any recognition or thanks. _Why should she. It's not as if we are people._ His mind started to wander again.

He was no longer kept in isolation, but he did not live with the servants. Cal was either locked in his cell or spent the nights in the master's presence, the only break of the routine were short excursions to see Petrá and the times Mari or one of the other slaves collected him for grooming. Cal was kept clean, was shaved, his hair was cut. His clothing never varied: black trousers, no shirt, no underwear. Other things _had_ changed, however. Not every night ended in rape any more.

One time the master had made the collar take over and turn Cal's body into a willing participant. It had been the first time Cal had managed to retreat far enough into his screaming mind to escape the reach of the collar. Whatever had happened outside _(whatever acts his body performed)_ was no longer of interest to him. His dissociation had resulted in severe punishment, but the master had never tried this trick again. Apparently, numb mindless obedience was uninteresting if the victim wasn't home to suffer through it.

Sometimes pain was enough to call him back into his body, but most times Cal's blankness was enough to spoil the vampire's mood. Cal was sure the absences were a bad sign, that something in his mind had finally broken, but if it meant that he did not have to serve the vampire every night, he was willing to welcome the fugue states and their consequences. He preferred being beaten to being raped.

The night before the master had Whistler whip Cal until he had lost consciousness when he realized mid-rape that his plaything had once again escaped into nothingness. The scourge had been put to use and he was pretty sure that the eager Whistler had flogged him to death. Nevertheless, Cal had woken up in his cell, the wounds already healed, his throat no longer raw from screaming. Mari had scolded him. She did not understand why he kept up his resistance.

An order broke Cal's chain of thought. His body moved before he fully realized that the master had motioned him to approach. Cal's body bowed low, then shuffled next to the master's feet, head lowered, hands resting on his knees. His skin had paled, but even though he neither ate nor drank, never trained, and spent most of his time kneeling or standing, his body had not deteriorated. Vampire blood. 

"A beautiful specimen indeed," the woman commented as Cal watched her from the corner of his eyes. Her dark hair was curled into ringlets and in the soft light her eyes looked like frozen gold.

"True," the master answered, "even though the circumstances of his acquisition were tragic, he is quite the addition to my house. Do you wish to taste him?"

"I could not, dearest Arcadius." The master's name was seldom used and whenever Cal thought about the vampire, the title replaced the name.

_They must be close. Arcadius, latinized form of Arkadios, derived from -_

The next silent order had him raise both wrists above his head and offer them to the vampires, crushing the fragmented memory of a lecture by a voice he couldn't remember. The woman's fingers were warm, but like the master's there was steel under the soft skin. Her hands slid along his forearms, stroked his biceps.

"But you tempt me. Such a gorgeous slave. You are to be envied, old friend," she continued. Cal felt the master's gaze on his neck, imagined the handsome face with the inhuman dark eyes.

"Why don't you take him for the rest of the night?"

"Arcadius!" The hushed voice was full of genuine surprise. "You are toying with me for sure." The master's hand fell on Cal's shoulder.

"Elea, I insist. You are one of my dearest friends and have taken it upon you to visit me in my retreat. Besides, the slave could use a little", he paused, chuckled, "variety. I will have him brought to your rooms and you are free to use him as you see fit. I trust you will keep him alive."

Coldness spread through Cal's body and he would have flinched if it was not for the collar as the woman leaned over and cupped the master's hand in hers.

"This is truly a wonderful gift, Arcadius." Elea's warm voice changed, lost emotion - lost life - when she addressed Cal.

"Get up. Let me see you properly." Cal got to his feet without the collar's prompting. Defying the master in front of the court would have him back in the rooms of silence and the mere thought of the white cell made him scream internally. He knew the posture he was to assume: hands behind his back, eyes on the floor, never look a person in the face, don't move until you are told to move.

The woman circled him once. When she spoke, there was hunger in her voice.

"I will take my leave then. Will he behave?"

"You might find him a bit, let's say, spirited," the master answered with a smile. "As of now, I prefer to keep his mind intact. I will transfer control to you for the night, however, to ensure you are satisfied with him." He turned and smiled at someone behind Cal.

"Ah, Marlon. The slave will be Elea's for the night. Arrange matters, please." A rustle of clothing meant that Marlon must have bowed, then he tapped Cal on the shoulder, a playful gesture.

"Follow." This time there was compulsion behind the words. Cal felt his body bow before he turned to follow the younger vampire. In a sick way, he was almost thankful for the order. He wasn't sure if he would have managed to obey if not for the vampire's imposed will.

_Please, no._ He wanted to scream. _I can live with the master and I can live with the blood but please don't hand me over to a new monster._

Behind him, the sounds remained unchanged. Soft voices, quiet music, the clinking of glasses. Inside Cal was crying out as his feet carried him out of the great hall.


	14. Mari

Mistress Elea had kept him alive.

Mari had waited outside of the guest quarters for an hour after dawn, but the guards dragged Cal out of Elea's suite he was even able to walk. Whistler shoved her fellow slave in Mari's direction. His skin was pale, Mistress Elea must have fed as much as she desired. While the master was the center of Mari's world, nothing could make her like Mistress Elea. A cruel, hard woman with none of the qualities her master possessed. Cal's body bore the signs of a night in Elea's claws. Scratches on his arms, breast, and back, not quite healed. The healing power of the blood he had been given the night before must have been depleted: Several Bitemarks stood out on his neck, wrists, one under his arm, one on his right hip. When Mari reached out to touch him, show some comfort, he did not react, did not even flinch. His eyes were vacant, empty.

Whistler chuckled. Ever since Cal had referred to the guard by this moniker one night, Mari found it hard to use his given name. One of Christian's trusted servants, uncouth, primitive - a good guard, though, she had to give him that. But always, _always_ whistling. 

"Our boy got lucky." His grin was malicious and Mari chose to ignore him. As one of Dominus' body slaves she stood way above him in the hierarchy of the house and she despised the man. Instead, she took Cals hand and smiled up at him.

"I should get you to Petrá. Come. The night is over." If Cal heard her, he didn't react. He let her lead him from the guest wing back to the treatment area without saying a word or signs of discomfort, even though Mari could see that the soles of his feet were covered in half-healed cuts. A glare from Mari let Whistler keep his distance. It wasn't as if Cal would ever harm her. She truly liked her housemate and more than anything she wished that he had not ended up in Mistress Elea's none too gentle hands.

In the brightly lit room, Petrá was still awake, lounging in her comfortable desktop chair, hair wet from the shower, fresh from her morning run. The doctor's eyes narrowed as Mari knocked, then guided Cal into the room.

"Oh, hell," Petrá murmured, "This wasn't the master. Who had him?"

"Mistress Elea," Mari answered, "The poor thing."

Petrá's nod was grim. "I'll get Ainhoa to help us."

Mari turned to Whistler. "You, stay outside. Or leave. Your presence is not required." Whistler grunted and left, not before deliberately lingering in Ainhoa's way, forcing the young slave to brush past him. The girl grimaced as she tried to evade his hands. Mari made a mental note to have some words about Whistlers conduct with his master, before remembering that Christian still languished in the rooms of silence. Maybe punishing the master and sparing the servant had not been a good idea, but Dominus must have had his reasons. She would have to do something about Whistler, though.

Cal was not the first slave requiring a visit to Petrá after a night with Mistress Elea. Using the fact that he was weak from blood loss, Petrá and Ainhoa secured him on the table before Petrá cut away his trousers. When the doctor touched his leg to examine the numerous bites, Cal twitched, then lay still again. Only his shallow breaths and the tension in his muscles showed that he perceived his surroundings. 

He never closed his eyes, never cried out. Mari had to swallow some tears of commiseration and gruff, harsh Petrá spoke softly to him, but all Cal did was stare into nothingness, the dark scratches and bite marks a stark contrast to his pale skin.


End file.
